Snapshots
by ValykirieRevolution
Summary: A collection of one-shots, drabbles, vignettes, and song-fics featuring the VC cast. Wide range of pairings, themes,ratings, and takes place in different parts of the series. Details are inside; Please R&R.
1. Insatiable

**Disclaimer: I in no way own this material; all characters, and subsequent material is not licensed to me- it belongs to Anne Rice, her publishers, and the various companies involved with its production. I had no hand in its making whatsoever; I make no profit whatsoever, I am merely a fan writing fan fiction. Please don't sue me. **

**Dedications: To Brat Princess, who filled up my head bunches of ideas-I hope you enjoy! **

**Warnings: Subtext: Sexual content, if you squint. You've been warned-avert your virgin eyes if you have to. **

**AN: This takes place during **_**Interview With a Vampire, **_**when Lestat, Louis, and Claudia all lived together. This will be the first in a series of one-shots, drabbles, and vignettes. If anyone has any ideas they'd like to see, just poke me, and I'll post it. **

**That said, enjoy!**

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Insatiable 

In the darkened room, a man brooded quietly. He refused the company of his companions; always letting them down gently, in docile tones. Both of them would give him a look to suggest _'You need to be more…more….' _he, of course, could hear no such thoughts. Instead, their eyes would pierce him insistently, telling him what he must do. He knew in the back of his mind the practicality of what they were telling him. He just didn't want to see the expressions painted on the beautiful faces he had grown so accustomed to.

He could picture their voices so clearly in his mind; bell chimes so alluring it would drive him mad. Hearing their voices so clear; sensual baritones and undulating tenors, all wrapped in soft chimes and eerie harps. The way the sounds swam in his head-he was dizzy now, and black patches curled at the edges of his vision. He couldn't move-the suddenness of ill feeling startled him.

He hadn't eaten in a while-he ignored the insistent hunger; the pull of his natural instincts screeched at him. Normally, he resisted until he no longer could, but it these past few days were different. For some reason, he resisted much harder than usual; his hunger had now ebbed into a dull throbbing. He had shut him self up for that last couple days. It was all because of Lestat-that stupid fight-no, he wouldn't think about that.

At the mere thought of that and Lestat sent him into this strange pain. His green eyes blinked rapidly, trying to clear away an image of Lestat. Lestat looking so perfect-that mane of pale gold hair that framed such a marvelously angled face. Those iridescent eyes reflecting every single vibrant emotion. His full, well-shaped lips opening and revealing the pearly fangs.

The way Lestat moved, his feline form full of rich vitality. They way he hummed or sang as he moved. Lithe muscles rippling beneath flawless alabaster skin. His skin sheathed in the finest clothing of the time. Soft silk, intricate patterns on blazing colors. Fabrics gracefully moving in a way that enhanced his temperament.

What a temperament-indulging in the most mundane of things in his mind. However, at times, Lestat seemed to have such thought provoking insights that it startled him. It even scared him at times to see brief moments of gentleness cross his features-making him wish for Lestat to look at him like that, the same way he did when they first met: an angel.

Wait. Where was all this coming from? What little blood he had in his body rushed into his face. What had come over him? Lestat wasn't like that-not really. Wasn't he? He was a bad teacher, impractical with money, a show off, and cared too much for frivolous things. He irritated Louis to no end-how he wished things to be different. If only-no. That train of thought was getting no where; Lestat would never be anything different than what he was. Why wish for something that would never happen, no matter how bad he wanted Lestat to be different.

Wait did he really want that? Yes he did. He wanted Lestat to be-no stop. An unexpected rush went through Louis. He felt so tired; he really ought to lay down. That fight really drained him more than he thought; that fight was a couple days ago. That fight-

'_Oh stop complaining-what did you expect?!' _Louis berated himself silently.

Louis really needed to lie down. Why was he feeling so ill? He stood up-too fast; a wave of…Louis winced. He didn't want to think about this. He pushed the doors opened; he could hear Lestat coming up the steps, he was whistling a merry tune. Louis had to move to his own room quickly; he didn't want to be around Lestat at all.

Why wouldn't his legs go faster?! Louis could hear him self breath heavily-he didn't expect moving to be so hard. The brass handle turned-

"Louis?" Lestat looked so surprised.

"ahh…" Louis felt oddly embarrassed.

Louis tried to move swiftly, he needed to get to his room; his vision blurred, and another round of throbbing pain shot through him. Spots dazzled his vision, and the floor looked a mere inch from his face-

"Louis?!" Lestat sounded alarmed.

Louis felt himself stop. A warm body pressed next to him; the thirst started to wake up. The body was firm and oddly comforting. Louis was being shifted around to be more comfortable to be carried; his head gently pressed against Lestat's chest-Lestat's-

Another ripple of thirst shot through Louis, making him flush again. His mouth felt dry-

"Idiot. You need to feed-you've been starving yourself haven't you?!" Lestat sounded angry.

"I-" Louis couldn't get past that. He really felt parched and cracked.

"Come on. Sit down." Lestat didn't sound as angry anymore.

Lestat set Louis gently down on their sleek sofa. Louis made a soft noise of protest at the lack of contact. Lestat smiled at him, lifting one slender hand to his neck, and he sliced a deep line into his neck. As he did this he spoke:

"Now Louis, we have talk about this later-when you can actually articulate your point." Lestat smiled at the effect he made.

Louis audibly gasped at the sight of the blood; at the way it looked so red and gleaming against Lestat's white throat. Louis's hunger flared fully into life. His lips parted; he knew vaguely that there was no way to resist this, and at this point he didn't particularly want to. Louis tried to contain himself, moving slowly towards Lestat. Louis's tongue poked out, his fingers brushed any stray piece of hair clinging to Lestat's neck.

Louis shifted closer to Lestat, his green eyes glazed over. Louis's tongue licked at the blood; Lestat felt a shiver go through him. Louis's tongue was moving faster now, trying to get as much of the precious liquid as he could. His lips paused when they felt the pulse in Lestat's neck; those lips parted, and Louis suddenly sunk his teeth into Lestat's neck.

"Louis!" Lestat gasped out.

Louis was nearly in Lestat's lap; he felt he had to be closer to him. The tide like sensations of the blood flowing out of Lestat and into Louis, going in and out. The dizzying heights, and rapid plunges. Louis felt a frenzied heat, rapidly filling him up, completing him and sending his senses into a revenged state, needing more and never wanting the ecstasy to end. He need to be closer to him-Lestat's cries were driving him over the edge.

Louis pressed himself harder into Lestat, bending over him and twisting Lestat onto his back. Louis felt the blood flow through him, zipping into his pores and hardening him up.

"L-Louis.." Lestat groaned slowly.

Louis felt Lestat writhe beneath him, struggling, and his legs bent out. Louis doubled over, straddling the blonde underneath him. Their hips grinding together; both could feel the other quivering against each other. Lestat was speaking now-his back arched up, hitting Louis so hard he yelled through his mouth clamped over Lestat's neck.

Louis felt himself be pulled away; he cried out in protest.

"Enough, my beautiful one." his clear eyes looking like melted glass.

"Lestat.." his voice was thick.

Lestat had a firm, but gentle grip on Louis's shoulders. Lestat leaned against him, his luminescent hair tickling Louis cheek. Both of them were panting heavily, and Louis felt the strangest surges of feelings. Lestat was looking attractively disheveled, his mouth petal pink and parted. His eyes were still half-lidded over, and his hair fell in a messy bang around him like a halo.

Lestat looked over Louis, who was panting just as hard, and some blood was stuck to his lips; his deep green eyes sparkling in a way Lestat was sure he hadn't seen before. Lestat ran a hand through his hair, and brushing it away from his face.

"Well? Feel better?" he already knew the answer.

"Lestat…you…are the damndest creature I've ever met!" his eyes seemed to split into various fragments of emotion.

Lestat started-he had heard that line before, and he smiled. He couldn't tell what all of the emotions Louis was feeling at the moment, but he could tell he wasn't completely angry with him. He smiled; how true was that statement. Well Louis was the one he had fell so fatally.. Lestat smirked; what a pair they could make.

"Well I-"

**BANG!**

The fine mahogany door slammed wide open; Claudia had returned. Both immortals were so surprised they leapt straight off the couch; Claudia's large doll like eyes blinked in surprise at the reaction. Before either man could react, she smirked knowingly and walked to her room, shutting the door with an ominous click.

The two men turned to each other, completely flabbergasted.

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**R&R Please! **


	2. Doomed or Damned

_**AN: This just came to me, and I had to write it. The perspective is up to your interpretation.**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own-only Anne Rice and the subsequent publishers and companies(I don't fit either category) has that privilege. I own nothing-please don't sue me. *runs off to hide***_

_Doomed or Damned:_

Which would you prefer? Would you like to stroll in our garden? A horrific place of beauty. Your moments are fleeting-a great showering firework. You blaze forward into the sky, with loud bangs and shimmering colors. Then you disappear, and fade into the smoke. Each moment is so brief-you must not meander. The snapshots are precious, some pieces are blurs; the racing rollercoasters of your kind-each vicarious rush is filled with wonder.

You know your time is brief; it makes you appreciate the beauty even more. In that realization of that briefness, of knowing that death pursues you, does that taint the beauty, or make it all the more potent? To have a full realization, that you are beating back death-speeding headlong into the depths of all your loving, painstaking humanity.

If you could take your time to stroll through the gardens, to drink in all around you-bask in every moment with clarity and care-would you?

What price would you be willing to pay-to let the red cup run over, and again and again; never having to fear death again, but instead become death? You will feel all the more-each sense perfected to a high pitch. You will become portrait and painter; filled with subtle shadows, vibrant colors, and timeless beauty. To become the marble statues standing guard in the Uffizi. You will become the feast for the fetid life within the earth, and we line our deathbeds with velvet. The curtain pulls back. You throw yourselves at our feet, so enchanted by the demons we are; the illusion of all that is dark alluring. Kneeling before our alters; the magnitude of mortality resonating in your heartbeat.

In exchange for vitality, will you become an imitation? No longer the reality of ruddy hues of liveliness, but rather a horrific parody? To wrap yourself in the finest of silk, and to hunt beneath moon covered streets? Each intricate ripple merely another piece in the garden-all the time in the world to drink in the most minute detail. To meander through the beauty of all things that fly beneath tomorrow's time.

You will come to love what you must take in order to survive-will you be pleased to be the grim reaper; can death fall in love? Isn't that truly what it means to be damned? To love what you must take; peering through virgin's rooms, stealing the most luscious fruit? To stroll about each tomorrow-or will you forsake all tomorrows in our embrace?

Which will you be?


	3. Home Alone

**Disclaimer: I am not Anne Rice, nor am I a part of what helped create and distribute vampire chronicles-I am a fan nothing more. No suing please-you'll just get paper clips out of it. Do not ingest orally, operate heavy machinery, or read under the influence while reading this fic. Symptoms include confusion, hilarity, and mild blunt force trauma. If symptoms persist, consult your doctor immediately. **

**Dedications: Brat Princess as always. She's got great stuff, check em' out. **

**Warnings: Nothing really. **

**Characters: Armand and Daniel. **

**AN: This takes place when Daniel is still human and he is living together with Armand. I always thought the idea of a vampire ogling technology and Armand is just wonderful in all his adorable craziness. In the early parts of Queen of the Damned, I lol'd at Armand's antics. **

**Enjoy!**

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Home Alone

Daniel had a fairly good idea as to why he had woken up so early. After all, he was dreaming of being chased by Harrison Ford, and that never boded well for anyone. It really was Armand's fault; if his red haired friend hadn't insisted watching Blade Runner repeatedly this wouldn't have happened. Daniel wasn't sure why Armand liked the movie so much, he personally found parts of the film to be a little unsettling.

Usually it was Armand who was the early riser of the two, but at the moment Daniel was most certainly awake first; the late afternoon sun was streaming blearily through the windowpane. Now he knew he'd never get back to sleep; rubbing his eyes slowly, he managed to untangle himself from his bed.

Daniel still drank coffee, taking it black with only one or two spoonfuls of sugar. It wasn't his favorite drink anymore, but he'd have to make do with what he could get. To stop his current train of thought, Daniel took a large gulp of coffee-and almost spat it back out.

"Gah that's hot!" he yelled.

The dark liquid spilled onto the counter, and Daniel stared at it for a few moments before startling himself out of it. Daniel ran a hand through his ash blond hair, and went to pull open a fridge-nothing there. Well he needed to eat didn't he?

Armand wandered into the kitchen, already knowing Daniel wasn't in the house. He didn't know why yet, but it made him anxious whenever Daniel would leave him for any real prolonged period of time. He ran his hand through the mass of red curls, and his cherubic face furrowed in confusion. Where'd Daniel go off to? He was beginning to get irritated-until he found the crinkled piece of paper lying oh so innocently on the counter top.

_Armand-_

_There isn't much to eat in the house, so I went to get some groceries, I'll be back soon, Daniel. _

Armand looked around; since his companion hadn't popped out of the nearest corner, he wouldn't be back for awhile. This made Armand bored; it wasn't nearly as interesting since he relied so heavily on Daniel for many things. It wasn't that he didn't consider Daniel only as a link to the outside world, in fact-

Well that wasn't the point-he was going to do something for Daniel. A huge beam broke out on Armand's face, making him look even more angelic; Daniel would have fainted from the sight.

In true Armand fashion, he would take an idea to heart, and take it to such extremes that it seemed ridiculous. He gave a almost girlish giggle, and made a mad dash for the cupboards. Daniel was hungry right? With his deft pearl hands, Armand grabbed random items off the shelves.

Tomatoes with a brilliant red, and smooth rounded eggs. He found some raisins, and a few pieces of stray beef jerky, and he even managed to find a can of tuna and pineapples. Armand spied the blender; he wanted to try it out for a week now, ever since Daniel caught him in the act of using it. So Armand took his chance now, throwing said items into the blender and making the item spin. He watched for a few moments, the colors whirling together completely enchanting him.

Should he make more things for Daniel? He looked around for more food-Daniel was right, there really wasn't anything to eat. Before he could further go on, the phone rang. Now Armand was no stranger to phones, but at times they caught him off guard, and gave Daniel laughs.

Armand grabbed the phone, practically ripped the cord out of the wall jack. He eagerly babbled into the plastic receiver. The speaker was talking in another language, and Armand decided to have a conversation with him. The blender was whirling manically, and suddenly Armand wanted to try out the microwave. He grabbed a few pieces of silverware and stuck it in the microwave.

At the counter top, Armand rummaged for plates and glasses. He found random assortments of food to prepare. However, he got distracted; Blade Runner was on! Armand rushed to the static filled television set. He then began to try and explain the wonders of Blade Runner to the mysterious phone caller.

So absorbed in what he was doing at that moment, he had forgotten about the other things he had used….

As Daniel turned the lock into the key hole, he knew immediately that something was wrong; living with Armand gave him a sixth sense about these things. Daniel didn't think he'd be gone so long, but he needed to eat. So when the door opened and revealed the room before him, he dropped his groceries in shock.

The phone's dial tone wailed like a police siren, the microwave was charred and smoking. The Blender had exploded, its contents bleeding like a stuck pig. The kitchen… did Armand invite anarchists to have a party? Why did the toaster have that funny color?! Why was the TV endlessly flipping through channels by itself?

Daniel felt as if he was in a bad Poltergeist parody. If he tried to dwell on just how this happened, his sanity might just snap(more so than it already since he was living with a vampire)-so instead he decided to yell.

"ARMAND!!!!"


	4. The Stradivarius Conscience

**Disclaimer: ****I in no way whatsoever own Vampire Chronicles-I am not Anne Rice; I'm just a fan. Nothing to sue here. *looks worriedly around for lawyers***

**Dedications: To Brat Princess-read her stuff, I command you. *use's magical Geass powers* **

**Warnings: None, really I promise-your virginity is safe.**

**Characters: Nicolas De Lenfent. This is in his POV.**

**AN: I hope I gave Nicki justice-he is a favorite of mine. I remember the parts of The Vampire Lestat that he was in, so hopefully he isn't OOC.**

**Enjoy!**

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The Stradivarius Conscience

The music spiraled upwards, creating a tower; it seduced his marionettes to dance in his wildest fantasias. His slender lover-like hands burned from the speed of his bow-he hated the parody of the puppets. They were the most beautiful imitations that God-who was the ultimate puppet master-or perhaps another marionette- ever allowed the dance on dark mahogany floors.

Losing everything, but gaining a faux ecstasy. The pitch straining, a twisted melody wrapped itself around wordless poetry, and it reminded him of the days he used it to beat back the nothingness that made Lestat weep. He could see the witch's place so clearly in his mind. Well now here he would make a new witch's place here-among the bohemians and Parisian clowns. Garish make-up, as foolish as sunlight. This would be where they all danced away their souls for mockery; high beams of darkened wood, peeling finery, and pale spun gold brightly shaped by other glittering things.

His beauties would make the greatest of all art; if they were damned then they must show the greatest passion play on damnation that they would all see. Evil is a point of view, and what views they would show with their splendid eyes. Iridescent blue burned onto him, and the memories of things taken from him had branded themselves into his skin. His blonde lover was a devil with an angel's face-the best kind of devil.

Smooth pearl skin, doll eyes, and the most flowing of movement. Didn't he hear someone tell him they should all make merry in a garden? If the spirits were irreverent to the ones below them, then he would see to it that their Hell would become their paradise; creating the most glorious vulgarity all the world would know. Art shaped the world-how would the painting look if painted by one of the damned?

Noting Lestat's horrified expression, he continued to play.


	5. New Book Smell

**Disclaimer: I no own. I am not Anne Rice. *throws fake money* that'll subdue those lawyers….**

**Dedications: Hurr de Durr- its pretty obvious. I luuurve you Brat Princess *throws a Lestat Plushie at her* here you go. **

**Warnings: None.**

**Characters: Marius.**

**AN: Marius needs some lovin' **

**Enjoy!**

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New Book Smell.

Every time he opened a book, the first thing he did was smell it. Seriously. He loved the way a finely printed books have that unique scent of a never opened book. He knew he would enjoy what was written inside the embossed hardbacks of modern times.

Marius was a scholar, first and foremost. No matter how old he'd get, or where he'd be, he would always love to learn. Learning was one of the most pleasurable experiences one could have, as Marius believed.

At first he would look at old stone tablets to transcribe their old wisdom and craft onto the finely crinkling of crisp parchments and scrolls. He loved the way it felt in between his fingers-all thick and smooth. The way it sounded when it was being moved about, and how he had to hold it just right. Staring at the jet black ink that would blot glossy and pool on the paper. He loved the ritual of creating the ink, and then hearing the scratching of his quill. It was worth it because he was going to learn something new, and the world was his gleaming and innocent oyster.

Then books came into existence. Marius loved the fact that he had to turn the page to get to the conclusion. Every page held a great revelation, a new thought to consider. To Marius, this was the best part of his life-even more so than Those who Must be Kept. Before that thought could make him guilty, he cracked open another book.

So now, Marius was curled comfortably in his room, all bundled and snuggled in thick blankets-the very picture of a cozy mortal with gentle entertainment. He couldn't wait to read this one.


	6. The Golden Scissors

**Disclaimer: I own nothing really-stop making me write serious disclaimers! *goes off to cry***

**Dedications: To Brat Princess and all the kick ass girls around!**

**Warnings: None**

**Characters: Gabrielle De Lioncourt, with a smattering of Lestat.**

**AN: She is so full of awesome, and the scene from the book was wonderfully vivid.**

**Enjoy!**

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The Golden Scissors

A pair of golden scissors gleamed menacingly atop their ornate coffin. It seemed that they were waiting for her, and in her mind it was perfectly appropriate that they would be there. Her son-she should thank him, she thought. She would do that later, however, and she had this one ritual to complete.

Her pale hands picked up the scissors easily and delicately, all the while admiring the detail of the action it produced. She stared for a moment at the intricate shades of the candlelight hitting the gleaming gold of the dual blades. The subtly of their shape, and its design seemed to almost be intimate for the task it was designed to carry out.

She tugged loose the constraints holding back her hair, and it softly tumbled down to her back. She was vaguely aware of Lestat staring her, she had always know of his attachment and slight wariness of her. She understood why-and she felt her love for her son. They were bonded in a way that most weren't, however she didn't always feel the need to show it, simply because of Gabrielle was convinced that their bond was so strong it didn't need affirmation. That and she was just as independent as her son, she thought with pride.

Gabrielle grabbed a few locks of golden hair and sliced at it with ferocity. Goodbye Husband she thought savagely. The cut pieces felt limply to the ground. Goodbye my old life-the hair raining down on the ground; no more cold nights, no more rusty weapons of the past, and no more cages. With each golden strand gone, the more eulogies were spoken; she felt the burdens being lifted from her shoulders, as if her hair was made of lead, and Gabrielle felt like she would float off the ground without her fair constraints.

Gabrielle found a gilded mirror, and admired the new appearance-she could be mistaken for a boy if not for her curvy body. Lestat was gaping at her shorn and ripened hair. She fixed her gaze on him, and darted forward to give him a kiss on a cheek.

"Goodnight son."

She closed her coffin lid.


	7. On Bravery

**Disclaimer: I in no way own the Vampire Chronicles, that is Anne Rice and her publishers property-not mine. No suing allowed. **

**Dedications: To Brat Princess as always. More power to ya' **

**AN: This came out of nowhere. it's a little different than my usual fare, but I'll give it my best. Yes, I've been meaning to update this. The POV shifts too. **

**Characters: Lestat, Louis, Gabrielle, Marius, and Khayman.**

**Enjoy!**

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On Bravery.

At times, in retrospect. Whenever he was in a reflecting sort of mood, Lestat believed that Louis was the brave one. Sure, he whined quite a bit and wasn't appreciative of his gifts. However, there were times that made Lestat do a double take. Nothing specific came on hand, but perhaps it was the overall way that Louis made him feel.

Lestat knew his…friend was a sensitive individual, and prone to asking difficult questions numerous times; he was so preoccupied with humanity. At times, Lestat wanted to shake him for being so…difficult. He couldn't even figure out a proper way to describe the black haired companion. A companion that made a great deal of noise over their predicaments(usually ones Lestat himself gotten them into), and didn't hesitate to give Lestat grief.

Lestat turned his head to look at his companion; Louis gaze was elsewhere, but Lestat knew that in moments that he would be right behind him. The phrase putting up with came to mind, and a snide voice in the back of his head(it sounded remarkably like Claudia) was saying _'you should thank him, idiot.' _

Lestat couldn't decide to smirk or just smile, so instead he yelled to Louis-

"Come on, hurry up!"

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Sometimes Louis believed that Claudia was the bravest of them all. After all, he mused, she had two incorrigible fathers. Whenever a spot of trouble(many spots actually) cropped up in their "family", Louis tried to remember advice that his elder brother had given him. He could hear his brother's voice so sharp and clear; an astute bubbling spring

"All children will resent their parents at times, even when the parent believes themselves to be doing the right thing."

Louis couldn't agree more. Even though, his advice was something that didn't always go down well, it was a typical response he would give Louis. The bitter much needed medicine. Although Louis had to wonder just how much good he and Lestat had done for Claudia. He often wondered if she got what she needed from them.

Trapped in the body of a child for eternity, forever bound by the limitations of childhood. Not to mention being raised by two full grown men who acted much like children themselves; Louis smiled wryly at the thought.

'_She had so much to put up with, and so much that we had taken away. I wonder how anyone else could have handled it.' _

Louis looked up at the night sky that was swathed in stars and tried to smile.

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Gabrielle was not a woman who was impressed easily, but she found her son to be impressive enough. Many times she had wished she was a man; she wanted their freedom. It could have been so easy to hate her son, it would be as easy as hating the rest of the men in her life. She couldn't hate him though. He was so much like her, that she had a hard time hiding her astonishment. So she decided to help him along the way. She wanted him to experience life in all its wonderful harshness; to feel pain through his accomplishments, and the wondrous throbbing feeling of being unfettered. It was a double edged sword; it would be harsh and gut wrenching, but dizzyingly happy and satisfying. Gabrielle was proud to see the same pride reflected in his eyes, and she knew he would bare both emotions with his head held high. Gabrielle wanted to give him the choice she never had, and she would never forgive him if he didn't take it.

Marius had a sneaking suspicion that women were in fact, much braver than men. During his days in Rome, he had seen warriors of all shapes and sizes true enough, but he had long since learned that some of the best warriors had no need of swords. He could recall the way Pandora's eyes would flash whenever he suggested something to her. He smiled wryly at the image of her at her most wrathful; no one could tell he what to do.

He missed her, he knew that. They way she'd yell and tremble with pent up indignation. A proud individual who knew her mind and would let anyone else make it for her. Marius shivered as the thought, despite the longing for her company; she really was admirable to him.

Although, if he was truly honest with himself, he would say that Pandora was probably the most intimidating woman he had ever met, well next to Lestat's mother perhaps. Marius recalled a human phrase that seemed to go along the lines of a woman's frightening capabilities.

'_Maybe that's why Lestat is so fond of Louis…' _

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Khayman was an individual who was easily inspired; he loved and feared a lot of things. Although what bore the brunt of that were the twins. Mekare and Maharet-the redheaded queens. When he first met them, he felt an instant fascination; both were proud and held themselves in a way he hadn't seen in a person before.

Mekare had a sharp wit and even sharper tongue; no one escaped her contempt or her opinions. She had a sharp voice, as clear as the dawn and it cut through the sky. Maharet had keen senses, and nothing escaped her notice. Her eyes softly cut through any barriers, and even though her soft lilting voice was rarely heard, she never needed to use it; her emerald eyes alone would speak.

Together the two of them were a tempest of dark and light, always different, but always together. Even after all that had happened, all the things that had gone wrong, Khayman still could remember the day when the two strange women had bested a Queen.

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**R&R**


	8. A Feeling

**Disclaimer: I don't own. **

**AN: This really just took hold of me, and I had to let it out. This is Claudia' POV. **

**Enjoy!**

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A Feeling

I know the feeling of life. Even one such as I. Yes I know the feeling of life. Shall I tell you? It is the rumbling beneath your feet. Like a huge beast; it vibrates with a hunger that can never be quenched. It starts in the soles of your feet, and travels upwards, and settles deep into your bones-more intimate than you've ever known.

Can you hear your heart beat? Feel its lusty pump? That is what it is, the deepness that never cease, but instead rises to fever pitch-you'll never be able to contain it-your body was not meant for holding so much, for being so full-that's why we die.

Inside the outer frailty, is this beast. The hunger that forever claws its way to the surface, never able to break the façade of pale, delicate flesh. As white as alabaster, a sleek moon glow. Even when disease ridden, fetid and raw like soil without the sun, even if the blood you spew is black-beneath the sickness and fragility is the throbbing vitality.

Just bubbling beneath, always fighting to get out-for a chance to run before death gives chase. It is the destiny of man.

Even if I should never grow-I will still know this. Know this great secret, and scribe it onto my small, child's body. I shall know this, but only feel it in small shades; I will forever be in the whitewashed garden, doomed to never be cast out. I long to let the devil give chase, and feel that heat, and eventually let it explode out of myself before seeping into the comfortable cool of the dark.

In a way, I am just like you.


End file.
